


The Stark Truth

by allisonfunn



Category: Marvel Avengers Movies Universe, The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Anorexia, Cutting, Eating Disorders, Gen, Self Harm, Suicide Attempt, self abuse, trigger warning, unintentional suicide attempt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-03
Updated: 2012-12-03
Packaged: 2017-11-20 05:21:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,761
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/581723
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/allisonfunn/pseuds/allisonfunn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>[[recently edited]]</p><p>Tony suffers from severe self-hatred. The Avengers aren't sure what to do.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Stark Truth

**Author's Note:**

> Just a headcanon of mine.
> 
> It's been edited because I just got my Bachelor's in Creative Writing and I feel obligated to fix my horribly written fanfiction.

Tony leaned against his work desk, head spinning. Days had passed since he had eaten and he could feel it starting to take its toll. His hands shook slightly as he sipped from his cup of coffee, fingers clenching the paper cup as he brought it up to his lips. The (not so) subtle shaking caused him to slosh the scalding hot liquid onto his hand.

"Shit," he cursed, setting the cup harshly down on the table, spilling more on his hand. "Son of a bitch!" Dummy whirled in his direction and Tony pointed at the machinery with his unharmed hand. "So help me God. You spray me with that fire extinguisher and I _will_ dismantle you!"

He walked to the bathroom and turned on the cold tap with his wrist. He ran his fingers under it.

"Shall I inform Miss Potts of your incident?" Jarvis asked.

"No, it's fine," Tony said, lightly patting his hand with a towel.

"Are you sure? This seems like something she would need to—"

"I just need ointment and bandages," Tony snapped.

"Yes of course sir."

Tony sat on the edge of the tub—he installed the tub in the lab after he needed to wash off some blood, that hadn’t quite been caused by a battle, without Pepper worrying—and wrapped his hand carefully.

"You know, this has been the fourth day in which you have not—"

"Jarvis,” Tony said, pausing. “If I'd wanted someone hounding me, I would have called Pepper or Widow or literally any other Avenger. I am fine. Shut up"

"I know, but I was worried perhaps—"

"I’ll mute you."

"Right. Carry on sir."

Tony finished wrapping his hand and headed back out to the lab.

He wiped the cooled coffee off his desk and angrily tossed the cup in the trash can. Using his good hand, he flipped through several screens before stopping at the plans for a new suit.

There was a sharp knock on the glass door and Tony looked over to see Thor smiling at him.

"Anthony!" the Thunder God boomed, "Natasha and I are going on a run for pizza! What toppings do you favor?"

"Not hungry. Thanks though, bud."

Thor furrowed his brow. "You do not require sustenance?" he asked. "Surely one such as yourself—"

"Kinda busy here. I'll be up maybe later"

"Son of Stark you have been in this laboratory of yours for five nights! Please! Join us!"

Tony sighed, "Cheese, Thor. I'm not really hungry. Just... call me when you get back and I'll come up okay?"

——

Tony ate three pieces of pizza that night, but only because he saw everyone glancing at him. He couldn't let them get suspicious.

Later that night, when he was in bed alone, he got sick. His body didn't take well to the greasy food after such an extended fast. He was leaned over the toilet, vomiting, the shower on full blast so no one could hear the terrible retching noises he was making.

During a brief pause he muttered, "Jarvis, if you tell any of them I will hack your mainframe and kill you."

"Technically I am not alive, sir."

"Don't sass me."

Tony fell asleep that night drenched in sweat and curled up in a ball on his King sized bed, Dummy holding a trash can next to him just in case.

——

Tony liked food: hamburgers, Shawarma, pretty much anything. He wasn't insecure about his body—he knew that he was fit and that women were desperate for him. The only reason he didn't eat was because it was easier and—sometimes—more painful than actually hurting himself.

Tony Stark hated who he was. He should be dead and he knew it. So many people had died for him to be alive. So many people had been hurt. It wasn't fair that he was still breathing.

But then again...when was life fair?

——

The next morning, Tony felt his insides clench from more than just hunger. He groaned and reached blindly for the handle of his bedside table. Sitting up, he pulled it open slowly, lifting a dusty porno magazine—he didn't read it anymore and it kept people from snooping in his side table—and picked up the razor hiding underneath it. He fingered the sharp blade.

He promised himself he wouldn't eat anything for a week and he had only lasted four days. Obvious failure.

——

He started cutting himself around the age of thirteen; Howard either didn't care enough or was too busy to even notice the scratches that his son was inflicting on his small arms. The cutting only got worse over the years and now he was laced with scars, most on his thighs after he has figured out how to properly cover the cuts. That was why he wore boxers during sex.

——

Tony pulled the sheets aside and dragged the razor deeply across his stomach, hissing the entire way. It felt wonderful and it helped his panic attack to subside, gave him control.

He then hitched his boxers up a little and dragged the blade up his inner thigh once, twice, three times before he pulled his boxers down to cover the fresh lines.

There was a sudden knock in the door.

Tony drew his sheets over his torso, hissing again when the sheet rubbed the raw cut. He dropped the razor under the magazine and slid the drawer soundlessly shut.

"Yeah," he said.

"Good morning, sunshine," Barton said flatly as he opened the door. "It's Sunday. Bruce made pancakes."

"I know what day of the week it is, Hawk," Tony snapped.

"Just trying to be helpful." Clint didn't shut the door as he continued down the hall, "Now get your Iron Ass down here and eat with us!"

Tony stood up and wrapped the sheet around him, grimacing at the cut-on-sheet feeling, and stuck his head out the door.

"Too busy. I'll be down in the lab; don't save any for me." He shut his door soundly.

——

As Barton rounded the corner into the dining room he saw Pepper poring over a tablet full of information.

"I have a question,” he said.

"I'm not letting you build a lofted bed," she said, not looking up.

"No. Wait... what?"

"Nothing," Pepper laughed, shutting the device off. "What do you need?"

"Does Tony have an eating disorder?"

Pepper's face fell, "Well—"

"It’s whatever. I'm just really worried about him," Clint responded, sitting down.

"Are we discussing Anthony?" Thor asked, entering the room. "I was discussing his eating habits with Natasha last night. We are both worried about him."

"Tony has..." Pepper paused. "I mean, you know he's self-destructive and—"

"Are you guys talking about me?" Banner walked into the dining room with two plates full of pancakes. "I made you pancakes."

"We speak of Stark," Thor replied. "Not of your green counterpart."

Bruce Banner set the plate down softly. "Oh... yeah." He pressed his lips together.

"And then I told the Russian Prime Minister—" Steve and Natasha walked into the room mid-conversation and came to a sudden stop. They looked at the team—minus Tony—standing around the table. "Oh God, what's wrong?" Natasha asked, looking around the room. Her eyes fixed on Bruce for a second longer than everyone else before she looked back at Pepper.

Pepper sighed. "Everyone sit down and I'll explain, okay?"

—— 

Tony's self destructive mannerisms only worsened after the incident in the Middle East and Yinsin's death. Obidiah's betrayal didn't help anything. And all of that as well as his self hatred was the reason why he hadn't told anyone his Arc reactor had been slowly poisoning him.

It was also why he slowly relapsed back to alcohol and razors.

Tony was an emotional wreck to begin with. Making him a hero hasn't been a good idea.

——

Pepper sat at the head of the table, finished telling the team about Tony’s past.

“What should we do?” Banner asked. “I mean, I don’t want the guy hurting himself…”

“We should watch him more closely, not let him be alone.” Natasha interjected. “If he’s not alone then he can’t hurt himself."

Pepper shook her head. “No. He can still hurt himself.” She sighed. “I don’t know what to do. I don’t want to have it come down to putting him in a hospital under 24 hour supervision. It wouldn't look good in the tabloids.”

“Tony’s health is more important than rumors.” Steve said.

Clint rubbed his temples and Thor pounded a fist on the table. “We must discuss it with him!”

“Not yet,” Natasha said. “I’ll think of something…trust me.”

And they all knew that if anyone was going to come up with a plan for helping Tony, then it would somehow be the Black Widow.

——

Tony was in the Tower’s gym beating a punching bag, when Steve entered the room. The Avengers had promised each other that they would not say anything to Tony about his problems, but Steve couldn't help himself.

“Hey." Tony grunted, socking the bag with his left fist. When Steve didn't respond, Tony stopped and looked over at him. “What do you need?”

“Do I need anything? I just wanted to know how you were,” Steve said, leaning against the closest wall.

"Okay..." Tony eyed him curiously before turning back to the punching bag.

After several hits, Steve had neither left nor explained himself. Tony grabbed the swinging bag and turned to face him. “Okay. Why the sudden fascination with me?”

Steve shrugged.

"Right."  Tony walked over to the bench press and laid underneath the metal bar, gripping it tightly. “Spot me,” he grunted.

Steve nodded and watched him push the weighted bar up and down. Tony’s shirt rode up a little, revealing part of the cut he had inflicted on himself earlier that morning. It was puffy and red and slightly oozing platelets. Steve gripped the middle of the bar and pulled it away from Tony, setting it on the ground.

“What’s that?” Steve questioned, anger in his voice.

“What’s what?” Tony asked, sitting up.

“That cut!” Steve exclaimed. He looked intensely at Tony. “What did you do, Tony?”

“None of your damn business.” Tony said, standing up and pushing Steve with no result. “Go away.” He grabbed a towel and pressed the button for the elevator. Steve followed him closely. “I said: Go. Away.”

"Stark. Wait—"

But Steve could only watch as the elevator doors slid closed and descended Tony to his lab.

——

“Change all of the passcodes.” Tony barked when he was alone in his lab. “And pull the blinds over the glass.” There was no reply. “Now, Jarvis."

There was a discernible locking sound and shifting of the curtains covering the glass.

"The code has been changed sir. What would you like it to be reset as?"

Tony walked over to the console and pressed in a few numbers and letters. "Don't you dare tell them."

"Of course not, Mr. Stark"

——

It was about a week before JARVIS notified Pepper about Tony's condition.

"Ms. Potts," Jarvis spoke over the intercom in the living room of Stark tower.

"Yes, Jarvis?" She put down the magazine she had been reading and uncrossed her legs, "What is it?"

"Mr. Stark has lost 15 pounds. And has also just recently passed out"

"Dammit, Jarvis!" Pepper muttered. "I told you to alert me if he lost 10 pounds!"

"My apologies. I will remember next time."

"There won't be a next time," she said.

She stormed to the elevator and pressed the down button. The doors slid open and she met Steve and Thor.

"Gentlemen!" Pepper placed a hand on each of their shoulders to stop them from exiting the elevator. "I need your assistance."

——

Pepper shook her head at the curtains drawn over the window.

"He lost FIFTEEN pounds?" Steve asked incredulously. "How much does he weigh now?"

"One hundred and twenty-nine pounds." Jarvis voiced as the door clicked.

Pepper sighed as she gripped the door handle, "God he's really underweight."

"Will Anthony require hospitalization?" Thor asked.

"It depends," Pepper said, walking into the room. "This is the third time he's done this and—"

She stopped at the sight of Tony passed out in his computer chair, limp. His face was gaunt.

"Oh God, Tony," Pepper whispered. She turned to the two men. "Help me take him upstairs."

——

When Tony woke up, the first thing he realized was an IV in the crook of his elbow. He lolled his head to the side to look at his surroundings. He was in a hospital room; a plain, white, sterile hospital room.

He tilted his head to the other side to see Bruce Banner sitting in the chair next to the bed, staring at him.

"Good morning," Tony rasped.

Bruce said nothing and held out a glass of water.

"Is that vodka?" Tony asked, reaching for the glass.

"Now isn't the time for jokes, Tony. You could have died."

"But I didn't, did I?" Tony sipped the water.

"That's not the point!" Banner shouted. He clenched his fists tightly and stared at the floor. Tony lowered the glass from his mouth and Bruce unclenched a hand so he could push his glasses up the bridge of his nose. "This self-destructive, self-hate thing has gotta stop." Tony went to open his mouth but Bruce interjected, "I know a thing or two about self hatred, Tony."

"I wasn't going to say you didn't," Tony muttered. He sighed. "Did they ask you to talk to me?"

"No," Bruce said. "I'm here because I care about you." He shifted in his seat and leaned forward, returning his gaze to the shiny, white tiles. "Do you know how upset I got when I saw Thor carry you upstairs? When I heard that you had to go to the hospital? I was infuriated."

Tony closed his eyes, "Bruce, you didn't—?"

"No, but I was damn near close." Bruce looked up at him, eyes narrowed.

"I'm sorry,” Tony said, staring at the ceiling tile above him.

"Are you sorry because you upset me or are you sorry that you got admitted here?"

"You need to calm down,” Tony looked over at Bruce.

"Don't you fucking tell me to calm down."

"I don't want you Hulking out in here, Banner."

Bruce sighed and leaned back in his chair. "It's a Shield facility. They have a room here for me...for the other guy."

"Do you need to go into that room?"

"I'm fine, Tony,” Bruce said tiredly.

"At least for an hour, please."

"It is amazing," Bruce said, standing up. "How you care about everyone but yourself."

Tony stared at the back up at the ceiling as Bruce left the room, his footsteps echoing down the hall.

——

Over the week Tony was in the hospital, he flirted with the nurses, ate when he was supposed to, and gained twelve pounds—bringing him up to 141 pounds. He was allowed to go home, just as long as he ate at least four small meals throughout the day. And he wasn't allowed to do any Avenging for two weeks.

Two weeks of not being able to suit up....

"Well it's your own damn fault, Stark.”

"This is not my fault, Steve!" Tony shouted, knocking a vase off of a coffee table in the tower.

Steve sat on the couch, fingers knotted. He raised an eyebrow. "Then whose fault is it?"

Tony kicked the coffee table with his foot, "Shut the fuck up." He stormed off down the hall to his room.

"Don't lock the door," Steve yelled after him.

"You are NOT my father," Tony snapped.

"I'm old enough to be."

His answer was the sound of a slamming door and the audible sound of the lock clicking.

——

Tony sat on his bed, head in his hands, legs shaking. He reached over and pulled open the side table drawer. He lifted up the dusty porno to find his blade gone.

"Son of a bitch!" Tony slammed the drawer shut violently. "Jarvis, when did they take my blade?"

"Sir, I do not believe I am allowe—"

"Tell me."

"The day after Steve Rogers discovered your fresh cut, sir"

"Son of a bitch," Tony growled.

"I really think you should calm—"

"No."

"Tony." Jarvis began. “It would be beneficial if—”

"Mute."

——

Anthony Stark didn't cry.

He didn't cry at his mother and father's funeral.

He didn't cry over his dependency of the arc reactor.

He didn't cry when he realized Obadiah betrayed him.

He didn't cry when Pepper yelled at him.

Tony kept his emotions to himself. He let them build and boil and slowly kill him. He would be damned if he cried.

But he was overwhelmed and couldn't help the tears that were making their way down his cheeks. He sniffed and rubbed his eyes with the palm of his hands.

Weakness. Couldn't be having that.

He yelled and slammed his fist down on the side table. It hurt, felt good.

He hit the side table again and again, bruising his fist, screaming out in defiance.

The door knob rattled.

"Tony, let me in." It was Rogers.

Tony ignored him, but this time connected his fist with the wall.

"Tony," his voice was stern.

"Go away!"

"Let me in and we can talk about this."

"You come in here and I'm punching you in the face."

There was silence on the other side of the door. Tony stumbled to the conjoined bathroom and pulled open his medicine cabinet. His razors were gone.

"God DAMN IT." He slammed the cabinet shut and punched his reflection, causing the glass to shatter. He looked at the glass embedded in his knuckles, the blood that was beginning to run down his hand.

The shattered pieces of the mirror shined up at him. Gingerly, he ran his finger over the edge and hissed when it sliced his finger.

——

When Steve finally got the door open — it had taken about fifteen minutes, given he took five minutes to look for a spare key and ten minutes to look for a screwdriver before just ripping the handle off of the door — Tony was under his covers, turned away from the door.

He put his hand on Tony's shoulder. 

"Get up and we’ll talk about this." There wasn't a reply. He shook him slightly harder. "Come on. Get up."

He rolled Tony on his side and choked out a half sob, half gasp. 

"Oh my God. Jarvis, call Pepper or Romanoff or someone." Steve pressed the already red sheets to Tony's arm. "Please, Jarvis!"

"I have alerted Ms. Potts. She should be arriving soon."

"Come on. Stay with me, Tony." Steve whispered, dabbing at the red parallel lines running down Tony's arm. "Come on, come on."

——

Tony heard him before he actually saw him. His eyelids felt like they were weighted down with 10 pounds each because of the drugs they’d gave him.

"Of all the dumbass things you could do, Stark." There was clicking of boots and a subtle shift of a leather coat as he walked in front of the bed. "An attempted suicide? Intentional or not, that looks bad for everyone. Not just you and your team. But me and everyone else at SHIELD." More clicking and shifting. "That adds up to a lot of press reports and paperwork. I don't like paperwork, Stark. I should make you do it all when you aren't drugged out of your mind."

Tony eyes fluttered open only for a moment. He coughed and chuckled weakly. "You know. You live up to your name, Fury."

"This is some serious shit, Tony. I don't know what I'm going to have to do with you. The Council wants to shut down the Avengers Initiative. For good. Or at least until you spend time in a psych ward."

"I'm sorry. I just—"

"You keep saying sorry. But are you really? I don't think you are. Rogers doesn't. Potts doesn't. Banner sure as hell doesn't."

"Oh my God. Did Banner....?"

"No. But he was sure as hell close. I don't think he'd be able to handle another one of these." Fury paused for a second, walking closer to the bed. "What you do affects others, Stark."

Tony heard the sound of his clicking as he walked out of the room.

——

This had never happened before. He’d always been so careful. But this time he’d been so angry. He couldn’t take being so stupid and worthless worthless worthless. He’d let everybody down. Why the fuck was he allowed to be a superhero? Does more harm than he does good. Should just rip the fucking arc reactor out of his chest and be done with it. Should just let him die. Because that’s what he deserves.

Doesn’t deserve anything good.

——

Tony’s arm needed 34 stitches to close the overlapping self-induced cuts. He was kept under 24 hour supervision in the hospital and when he was finally allowed to go home, he was still constantly watched.

So he kept up a strong image up for the public and his team. Didn’t think about himself. Didn’t deserve that.

He ate every day and was constantly working out to keep his mind off of the pain inside his head. He steadily gained fifteen pounds—mostly in muscle. He kept on a brave face for everyone and continued to ignore his own needs and feelings.

But, finally, Tony broke.

Pepper and he were slowly making love when it happened.

It wasn’t that the sex caused his break down—well, actually it was— but not in a bad way. The intimacy had overwhelmed him until he was a mess.

Tony laid on top of Pepper, supporting his weight on his arms, and pressed the side of his face on the pillow, away from her. He stilled.

“Tony, what’s wrong?”

 He sniffled. “Nothing.”

“Then why did you stop?” There was a pause, a hesitation where she knew he was trying to think of a convincing lie. “Tony. Don’t lie to me.”

He exhaled and turned his head to her. “I’m so sad,” he whispered. “And I don’t want to be sad anymore.” A tear escaped and he choked on a sob. “I can’t let anyone else down. I’m so worthless.”

“Hey. Hey, you are not worthless. Not at all,” she said, rubbing her hand down his back soothingly. “And you’re not letting anybody down. We all love you and we’ll get you help. We’ll be with you the entire way;  _I’ll_  be with you the entire way.”

She held him while he silently cried.

 

**Author's Note:**

> obviously post Avengers, pre-Iron Man 3.
> 
> Shhhh. Let's just pretend they all lived together in the Stark Tower.


End file.
